Title: HURT

Authors: Catherine and Kristina [[email protected]]

Pairing: Elijah Wood / Ian McKellen

Rating: A big fat NC 17

Status: Finished, 1/3.

Archive: No.

Feedback: Constructive criticism, suggestions and debate is welcome, complaints about the subject matter are not, read the warnings. 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. None of this is true. The authors are not affiliated with the herein mentioned Real Persons in any way. The authors make no money on this. Any similarities with actual incidents are completely incidental.

 

Summary: Some people say you should fight fire with fire.

 

Warnings: BDSM, violent sex, cursing, angst, emotionally!disturbed!Elijah, evil-ish!Ian and pop psychology. Did we cover everything? Oh and dialogue, lots of dialogue.

 

Authors’ Notes: This has been deemed our ‘Fic from Hell’ because it’s been hanging over our heads since we started it eight months ago, has taken us a heck of a lot of time to write (we are slow) and because we’ve spent most of that time trying to figure out what the heck to do with it. It’s been our guilty conscience. But now it’s done anyway. 

 

A few “disclaimers” are called for. The premise of this story is well, that some people are disturbed in certain ways and that if a person is disturbed in this way he or she can do certain things to make them un-disturbed. This is of course a sheer and utter lie. If you have emotional problems of any kind, the only way you can fix them, is by getting professional psychological help. We of course know this, but have decided to forego that fact for the sake of this fic.

 

 

Dedicated to Nefertiti who made this story a little less of a mess, and without whose support and stern editing it would still be in the drafts folder.

 

 

 

HURT by Catherine and Kristina.

 

 

Part 1.

 

They were both so hot, wild with passion and need.  Elijah slammed Ian back against the bedroom wall and kicked his legs apart with a low growl.  Ian wound his fingers through Elijah's hair and urged him on with deep kisses.  Elijah was like a whirlwind as he stripped them both before pressing back against Ian's body. 

 

Ian could feel the other man's erection dancing with his own and he trapped it between his legs making his lover pant and gasp.  Elijah thrust against him and Ian pulled his body as close as he could with a hand wrapped round Elijah's back.  He slipped the other hand lower to rub tenderly across the small of his back.  Elijah moved faster, incoherent with his need and soon shot against Ian's thighs and groin.  Ian, who had more stamina but enjoyed Elijah's youthful need, wrapped him in a bear hug and whispered endearments into his ear as he felt the tension melt from the slender body.  He stroked the now sweaty back soothingly and Elijah rested his full weight against him, boneless with repletion as they kissed lazily.

 

Having a very sexy young man pressed so heavily against him was feeding Ian's fire.  He cradled Elijah's head in his large hands and traced his eyebrows with his thumb.

 

"Beautiful," he murmured.

 

Elijah smiled up at him, lick-kissed his fingers while his lower half pressed more forcefully against Ian's cock.  Ian flung his head back and grabbed at Elijah's shoulders.  He exerted downward pressure, wanting more than the world right now that Elijah go down on him but Elijah pulled back. Ian opened his eyes fretfully.  "Suck me," he begged.

 

"Come to the bed."  There was passion in Elijah's eyes but something else,

too.

 

By some miracle, Ian held on to his patience. "Here.  Please."  Again he pushed at Elijah's shoulders, not a real pressure but a hint.

 

Elijah's face contorted in disgust. "Like hell I am.  I'm not kneeling to suck you off.  Fuck you, Ian!"

 

Ian stared in rank incomprehension.  "Why the hell not?"

 

"I'm not your .. servitor."  Elijah took a step backwards, looked like he had just discovered something unsavoury on the bottom of his shoe.

 

"I never...  Christ!"  Ian ran both his hands through his hair.  "Then for Christ's sake, jerk me off like this."  He grabbed Elijah's hand.

 

Elijah met his gaze and Ian's frustration turned to concern.  Elijah's eyes always were the windows into his soul.  The disgust was still there but warring with passion and the desire to make Ian feel good.

 

"On the bed - I'll suck you off there.  Please.  Want you babe."  There was mute appeal in Elijah's eyes, a silent plea for Ian not to make an issue out of his issue. 

 

Elijah pumped his hand up and down Ian's cock and all rational thought fled from Ian. 

He'd lie down in front of Buckingham Palace, if only Elijah would bring him to climax.

 

It was only after Elijah had led him to the bed and given him a blowjob that should go down in the Guinness Book of Records that Ian really began to worry.

 

***

 

The plan slowly formed.  Ian knew enough about the art of direction to set the stage the way he wanted it without arousing Elijah suspicions.  It couldn't have gone better.  It was raining outside, the kind of damp grey drizzle that only England could produce, and they had the fire on. 

 

It wasn't a real fire, since the maintenance was too much of an ordeal, but it was a coal effect fire which one could gaze at in moments of reflection.  They were snuggled up in the two deep armchairs in front of its warmth and Ian had brought in the tea tray, responding to the puppy dog appeal in Elijah's eyes by bringing out the cookies he had hidden earlier.

 

"Tea. This doesn't look good."

 

Ian tried to stall.  "Nonsense, love, we drink tea every day."

 

"Yeah, babe, but you only bring out the teapot and matching mugs when you want to get serious." Elijah cocked his head at Ian, challenging him to deny it.  Ian had the grace to look chagrined.

 

"Elijah."  He had rehearsed this in his mind.  Unfortunately Elijah wasn't going along with the script.  "You do know I love you."

 

Elijah beamed happily at him then his face settled back into worry.  "Why the hell do you need to ask me that?"

 

"Love is about trust, wouldn't you say?"

 

"Sure."  Elijah had the look of someone who suspects a trap.  "Quit pussyfooting around. What's this about, Ian?"

 

Ian grimaced.  "Very well.  I was going for the subtle approach. However ... It's about last night."

 

Elijah gazed at him as if trying to peer into his mind.  From his expression, Ian could tell he hadn't a clue. 

 

"Not about me not picking up my dirty laundry or playing my music too loud?"

 

Ian rubbed his hands over his face, tried to gather his thoughts.  Getting the tone right was so difficult. He wanted to confront Elijah with this problem yet, if he pushed too hard Elijah would just shut him out. Deliberately playing it cool, he took a sip of tea and passed the biscuits to Elijah, who shoved them away in irritation.

 

"Elijah, I believe open communication is a vital part of a relationship.  If there is a problem for either partner, it should be discussed in a relaxed non-judgmental environment."

 

"Yeah, you said.  On your web page - something about not having a showdown but bringing up important issues in a casual manner.  Now you're scaring me, Ian.  Are you trying to tell me you're breaking up with me ‘cos if you are just say it."

 

"No, dear Lord, no Elijah."  Ian reached for him, squeezed his hand for a second.  "That's not it at all.  Relax, love.  Please."

 

From Elijah's expression Ian's softly-softly approach was only serving to make him feel worse.  "I really enjoyed our lovemaking, Elijah.  I want you to know that - no bullshit.  I think you deserve a medal for the blowjob you gave me".  He tried to flood his voice with tenderness and amusement to ease the shock coming up.  "However, I was concerned by your refusal to kneel to suck me off."

 

Ian scrutinised Elijah's mobile face carefully. Elijah's eyes widened in surprise, an emotion quickly replaced by indignant anger.  "Get over yourself, Ian, for fuck's sake!  You have got a real nerve."

 

"Why love?"  Ian kept his voice gentle.

 

Elijah's cheeks flushed in mounting anger.  "Don't fucking patronise me! I've had that kind of thing up to here.  You goddamn son of a bitch...  Who the hell died and gave you permission to walk all over my life?"

 

Elijah was breathing hard, his knuckles clenched.  Ian had the distinct impression that his lover wanted to storm out of the room and slam the door in pointed fashion but was holding back because he didn't want to give Ian that satisfaction.  Elijah's reaction, however, only served to confirm Ian's fears. "We need to talk about this," he asserted, keeping his voice very steady.

 

"Fine.  Let's talk."  Elijah crossed his arms defensively and his face slipped into a look of twisted malice.  "I didn't kneel to suck you off because I'm not your trained dog."

 

Something suddenly occurred to Ian from past love-making sessions. "What about not swallowing my come?  Does that make you feel like a trained dog too?"  He instantly regretted his sarcasm. 

 

Elijah's voice was shaking so hard with revulsion that he could hardly spit
out the words.  "I know what this is about: You want to brand me, don't you?
Squirt in my mouth to mark your fucking territory? Well, I'm sorry, I'm not
your whore or your latrine."

 

"No! How can you say that to me?  That is most assuredly not what I want at
all!  I am concerned because of your strong reaction, not because I thought
you owed me something."

 

Ian took a deep breath, tried for a more reasonable tone of voice.  This was not going well. 

 

"I'd like to think I have always treated you with the utmost respect.  If that is not the case, we need to talk about it.  However I'm confused Elijah, how does kneeling equate to you being treated like a dog?  What's so humiliating about it?"

 

There was a moment of frozen silence then Elijah blurted out: "It just is. It's sick.  I don't kneel to anyone."

 

"Why?  Are you afraid I'll choke you, is that it?  I'm trying to understand

this."

 

Elijah suddenly jumped to his feet.  "This conversation ends here.  I never thought you were a sick fuck, Ian.  Guess I was wrong."

 

Ian caught his arm.  Elijah glared hell at him and for all his short height fairly towered over Ian.  "Get-your-hand-off-me," he grated, his voice cracking with anger.

 

Ian held up his hand in surrender, telegraphing non-hostile vibes.  "I'm sorry.  Will you please sit down?"

 

Elijah flopped back into the chair, gnawed savagely at his nail while he tried to get himself back under control. He had never liked being patronized but, if he was honest with himself, despite the indignation, he was surprised at his own violent reaction.  "Just back off, okay?" he said, hearing how shaky his voice sounded.

 

Ian tried for a smile.  "That's what the tea's for.  Nothing in this world is so grim that it can't be discussed over a good cup of tea.  If our heads of state would only learn this principle, there would be very few wars in the world."

 

Elijah smiled dutifully, some of the tension melting at Ian's obvious attempt at lightening the mood.  It was rather a contrived moment he realised, a bit like a time out.  He slid his legs under himself and curled up in his chair.  Ian settled back in his own chair with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

 

"Sean Bean, you know, insists on two tea bags per cup.  It's quite indefensible.  Must have something to do with coming from the wrong side of the Pennines."

 

"Yeah, he was always teasing Orli for drinking - what did he call it - ‘gnat's piss'."  Elijah realised he had finished his tea and started on a biscuit to occupy his hands.  Now that his anger had dissipated his natural maturity was kicking in.  He hated fighting with Ian.  A little reluctantly, rather like someone opening a box they suspected might contain one of those joke snakes, Elijah asked: "Is this really a big deal?"

 

Ian took a moment to arrange his thoughts. "I think so, love." He seemed to reach a decision, because he put down his tea in determined fashion, reached out to rub Elijah's arm.  "I want to stress that I am in no way disappointed with you as a lover.  This has nothing to do with your abilities - which I may add, are quite exceptional. I'm only concerned because of your strong reaction, not because I thought you owed me something."

 

Elijah didn't look like he believed Ian but he kept his opinion to himself. "I just don't see why this is a big issue," he said in a wistful voice.  He sniffed slightly, turning his head away while he blinked furiously.

 

Ian busied himself with the tea tray until his lover was back in control. There was nothing worse, he had discovered, than being close to tears and someone asking you if you were all right.  "I'll just clear these away. Back in a sec."

 

When he returned, Elijah was looking more himself.  He smiled up at Ian, slipping his hand into his and pulling him down.  Ian perched on the edge of the chair and kissed him thoroughly but very tenderly, wanting to telegraph all his love and commitment.  After a few minutes, he pulled away, brushing the back of his hand along Elijah's jaw.  "Let me show you something," he said into the quiet.

 

Elijah's eyes were still veiled but he nodded.  Ian smiled his gratitude.

"Stand up, love."

 

Elijah got to his feet, expecting Ian to do so as well and lead him to bed – make-up sex was always great.  Ian, however, pulled a cushion off the chair and knelt down in front of Elijah.  He looked up at his lover as he rested his hands on his hips.

 

"I'm going to suck you off, my love."

 

All Elijah's fears and doubts returned and he took a step backwards, finding the chair in his way.  He was trapped.  He grabbed hold of Ian's hands, panic winning out over anger.  "Don't!  Not like that."

 

"Yes like this.  Because I love you and trust you.  Because I want to make you feel good."  Ian unsnapped Elijah's jeans and scrunched them down. Elijah watched him with an expression of disgusted fascination.  Ian slipped Elijah’s cock out and the man shuddered and grabbed Ian's shoulders to steady himself.

 

"That's it," Ian murmured.  "Relax, love."

 

He stroked Elijah expertly, pumping his shaft, rubbing at the head until he was fully erect.  All the time he maintained eye contact.  Elijah was shaking now, torn between arousal and fear.  Ian licked at the head and wormed the tip of his tongue into the slit, which had Elijah gasping with pleasure. He lapped at the head, making it glisten, before he swallowed the length, opening his mouth easily.  Elijah gave a strangled cry and Ian grabbed his waist firmly to prevent him falling. 

 

A few minutes later, he came harshly.  Ian toppled him backwards, shifting himself to kneel between his legs.  He caught Elijah's hands, massaging them soothingly.

 

"There now.  That was beautiful, my love."  Ian licked his lips, savouring him.  "I didn't find there was anything humiliating or servile in making love to you like that.  It was beautiful." He reached forward to lift Elijah's chin. "Elijah, I love you but I believe you have a control issue."

 

All Elijah could think to do was shake his head.

 

"I want you to think about it.  Very carefully.  We'll talk about it later."

 

With a kiss to Elijah's forehead, Ian pulled himself to his feet and left the room to do the washing up.

 

***

 

Elijah gnawed on his fingernail and tried to drown his thoughts in the hip-hop music he'd selected on the CD player.  Part of him wanted to sweep the whole session under the carpet, pretend it had never happened.  He was fairly certain Ian would not mention the matter again.  He grimaced to himself, already knowing that he wouldn't be able to do that.  God but he hated being grown up!  Not that he was admitting Ian was right, mind you.

 

He uncurled his legs, which had fallen asleep and hobbled over to the kitchen where Ian was washing up diligently, whistling in an attempt to drown out Elijah's music and probably his own thoughts.

 

"Hey."

 

"Hello, love.  Don't tell me you've appeared here to volunteer to do the drying up?  Thought not."

 

Elijah shoved his hands in his jeans - they felt damp.  "I thought I'd go for a drive." Once he'd showered and changed, that is. "You know, think about .. stuff."  He hadn't wanted to sound so pathetic.

 

Ian's beaming smile eased some of his chagrin. "All right, love.  Will you back in time for dinner?  It's your favourite."

 

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused by Ian's transparent attempt at pouring oil on troubled waters.  "What, you think I'd miss Pasta A La Ian?  I'll be back."

 

***

 

Ian heard the door open and restrained himself from immediately leaping up

to welcome Elijah home like a conquering hero.  Instead he yelled out a greeting and zapped on the television in an attempt at nonchalance.  He listened carefully for Elijah's footsteps and heard him going into the kitchen. He gritted his teeth and dragged his mind off its preoccupation onto the absorbing subject of an infomercial.

 

The door was kicked open - Ian would usually have scolded Elijah about that - and Elijah was coming over bearing the tea tray.  They shared an amused grin at the irony and Elijah parked the tray on the table.  Ian laughed suddenly with delight: there was a new milk jug on the tray, one that matched the rest of the tea service.

 

"Thank you!"  He kissed Elijah enthusiastically.  "Where did you find that? I've been looking for the matching milk jug for years."

 

"Some of us have contacts."

 

"In the milk jug procuring business?  I'm in awe."

 

"Just drink your tea."  Elijah settled next to Ian, resting his hand on Ian's thigh.  "So I've been thinking about what you said," he said, gazing into the middle distance and blowing on his tea.

 

"Any conclusions?"

 

Elijah's face scrunched into wry acceptance.  "I guess you were right.  Hi, my name is Elijah Wood and I have control issues," he mimicked sarcastically.

 

Ian ignored that as he gently removed Elijah's cup from his hands.  He made him meet his gaze as he said quietly, "At the risk of sounding patronising, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you, Elijah."

 

"So what do we do?  Book ourselves in with a sex therapist who will charge us mega-bucks?"

 

"No, I don't think that's necessary," Ian replied thoughtfully.  "Do you know I used to have a snake phobia?"

 

"Yeah?  I like snakes.  I always wanted one as a pet but mom said no."

 

"The way I overcame my fear was to confront it.  I went to the local zoo a few times and the reptile keeper let me handle his exhibits.  At first I could hardly look at them; they looked so evil and slimy.  And their tongues…  After a few visits I was able to touch one.  Barbara the boa.  She was a very fat docile boa constrictor.  I discovered that snake skin isn't slimy but silky soft and that their tongues actually feel quite ticklish on one's skin.  I still didn't like the way they slithered and the small fast snakes still bothered me but gradually my fear eased.  Now I quite like snakes."

 

"Aversion therapy, it figures.  So you think I should just kneel to suck you off?"

 

Ian stroked Elijah's cheek.  He could feel how tense Elijah was and moved to hold him close.  "If you were simply afraid of the mechanics involved in giving oral sex then yes.  However, your fear is only a symptom."  Ian met Elijah's gaze and said gently. "As is your fear of anal sex in certain positions."

 

Elijah fought against the blush he could feel and made himself maintain eye contact.  "This isn't easy you know, Ian.  Just tell me what we do."

 

"Submit to me.  Sexually."

 

It was all Elijah could do not to run from the room screaming.  Or vomiting. As it was he wrenched away from Ian with a gasp of revulsion.

 

"Fuck!  No way!  No fucking way, man."

 

Ian grabbed hold of him, wrapped him in a bear hug, until Elijah's frantic movement stopped and the man flopped against him.  Ian tightened his hold, ignoring the bruises he could feel blossoming from Elijah's blows.  He kissed Elijah's hair, murmured words of love and comfort, almost rocking his lover as he would have done a fretful child disturbed by nightmares. 

 

"My love, this has to be your decision.  I want to help you, I will help you but I will not coerce you into this.  But please, love, don't hide from yourself.  I remember how long it took for me to accept myself and love myself.  I don't want you to have to go through all that. I don't want to imagine you like me at forty and still guilt-ridden."  He stroked back Elijah's hair and made him look at him.  "Let this end here."

 

Elijah hid his face in Ian's familiar scent and warmth.  He didn't want to admit, even to himself, how frightened he was.  Fear was a weakness and he didn't want to appear weak.  "All right, how?"

 

"Roleplaying."

 

"That's what you do at drama school, Ian," he said, as though speaking to a simpleton.

 

"It's a safe environment.  You can explore issues you couldn't normally explore.  And if you think about it we're well suited to the medium since we are both - allegedly - actors."

 

"So," Elijah asked with the air of one who wants to make sure he has all the facts of a particularly batty scheme, "you want me to play someone who's submissive?"

 

"Yes.  I want you to play Frodo to my Gandalf.  They are familiar characters, their roles are clear and if you feel frightened or overwhelmed it is in the safety of a part."

 

Put like that it didn't sound so scary.  He had taken Frodo through hell and back in the course of filming.  "Okay," he heard himself say.

 

"Please understand that if you don't want to go along with it that's all right with me. You're not obliged to anything. Just don't lie to yourself. Do you trust me with your decision, whatever it may be?"

 

He met Ian's gaze.  "I trust you," he said. "I'll submit to you."

 

***

"Why the fuck do we need a Tolkien safeword anyway?" They were pouring over every Tolkien book published in their search for a suitable word.

 

"Because it's a way for you to be in control.  Once we start, I won't stop. I won't break character to ask if you are okay.  It's up to you to tell me. A safeword is the accepted way to do it.  A Tolkien word seems appropriate somehow."

 

"What happened to ‘just say no'?"

"My love, you say no when you're coming.  It has to be a word that does not have a double or ambiguous meaning.  When you use it, I'll know without a shadow of doubt that you need us to stop."

 

Elijah sighed.  "It's no big deal, Ian."

"It will be.  You'll need a safe word, Elijah, trust me."

 

There was something about the look in Ian’s eyes as he said that which made Elijah nervous. "What about Mithrandir?"

 

"That's Gandalf's elvish name.  Frodo might conceivably use it to address the wizard.  The safe word has to be a word that would not crop up in normal conversation between the two."

 

Elijah sighed and Ian smiled at his impatience.  Elijah said: "If we use any of these other words, you won't know if I'm trying to say them or spitting feathers.   How about Bar en nibin noeg?  That trips lightly off the tongue."

 

"You're not helping."  Ian kissed his cheek.  "How about Valinor?"

"Valinor?  I can pronounce that one which gives it point over that Ethel Brandir place."

"Ephel Brandir."  Ian articulated it perfectly, seeming to caress each syllable with relish.  Elijah nuzzled at his chest. 

 

"So we are agreed on Valinor, love?"

"Yeah.  Okay.  Sure. Valinor it is."

 

***

Elijah allowed Ian to help him on with his coat.  "It's raining again.  Is it in the contract for it to rain every day in London?"

 

Ian ignored that.  "Have you got your umbrella?"

"I lost it."

"You lost the blue one.  What about the green one?  Oh Elijah! All right you can borrow my Lord of the Rings one. But please try to bring it back.  I'm rather fond of it."

 

"I'll be careful."  Elijah kissed Ian. "Love you."

 

"Elijah?"  Ian's voice stopped him.  "Remember the session begins at 6. Don't disturb me until then.  I'll put your costume ready for you in the living room."

 

"I know. I hadn't forgotten."  Elijah tried for a tone of bantering annoyance to cover up his real nervousness. "You wrote it in capital letters in my diary. 7 o'clock - I mean 6. 6!  I so meant 6!"

 

"Go away before I lose all patience with you."

 

***

 

With half an hour still to go, Ian changed into Gandalf's grey robes.  He had spent long minutes debating with himself whether the Grey or White wizard was the right persona to adopt.  The White had the commanding mein necessary and yet Ian had always found the Grey easier to connect with.  He also felt instinctively that Elijah would respond to the Grey's homeliness easier.  They had only shared two scenes with Ian as the White, whereas the Grey was a familiar presence both to Frodo and his earthly alter ego.

 

Thank God he didn't have to worry about Gandalf's irritating itchy beard. It was slightly strange seeing himself half way between Ian and Gandalf but decided that was exactly what was needed here.  A mix of the two.

 

He wandered about the bedroom, mentally preparing himself as though he were readying himself for a stage performance.  He paced to and fro, touching this and that, familiarising, reacquainting.  He ran his fingertips over the trashy novel Elijah was currently reading.  He smoothed down the duvet and plumped up the pillows; he let his fingers trickle and play over the various jars and potions on the dressing table.  He lit the candles and oil burner, ensured the room was warm enough for nudity, and lastly double checked the bedside cabinet contained everything they might require: lubricant, matches,

massage oil, fluffy towels and two boxes of tissues. The latter item had the butterflies turning into elephants in his stomach and he got up to pace the room again, submerging himself deeper. 

 

This was necessary, he told himself.  Elijah's control issues were serious.  It would not only affect their relationship but any future relationship Elijah might have.  It was a matter of trust.

 

He heard the front door bang open - Elijah invariably crashed into a room. Ian suddenly wanted to go downstairs, tell him the session was off.  He wanted to wrap Elijah in his arms, pretend everything would be all right.  But he had to be strong, for Elijah he had to go through with this. 

 

He sat on the bed and summoned up the worst case scenario: Elijah in tears, pleading with him to stop, begging him, his penis softened in fear, his body wracked by shivers, his hands covering himself.  Ian looked at the image and steeled himself. He would carry on, he would force himself to carry on until Elijah's demons were laid to rest.

 

The clock in the hall struck the quarter to, shocking Ian.  He took a number of deep calming breaths: he could do this.

 

***

 

Elijah was gnawing on his finger nail.  He was so wound up he couldn't settle.  It had been like that all day.  Going about his business, signing a mountain of Rings memorabilia, checking diary dates with his agent over the phone and speaking with his business manager.   Twice he had found himself dialing Ian's number to tell him it was off but both times he had hung up before the call connected.  He had given his promise, and he lived by the principle that a man's word meant something.

 

He zapped the television on and tried to absorb himself in a Britcom but Basil Fawlty's manic antics only served to wind him up even tighter.  He switched it off in disgust and instead flicked through the papers and magazines littering the table but the words jumped and bounced in front of his eyes.  He rifled through his prodigious travel collection of CD's but none of the two hundred albums seemed to quite fit his mood.  In despair, he ended up pacing.

 

The clock struck 7 and he felt his cock jerk in his breeches. This was it.